A Casual Affair
by corporalrivaille
Summary: Set after Lies (possible spoilers for Gone series) / rated M for mature content Many fear of what they dream in the FAYZ, the bad that replicates reality and the good that creates hope. Edilio is no exception but should he have been fearing the dreams over the nightmares, when they revolve around an artist boy and a love a leader can't have?


(if you were expecting some form of ereri/ayn update i'm so sorry i'll work on that like asap sorry for my inconsistency i love you guy)

HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPPY BIRTHDAY TO BETHAN you've already heard my multiple birthday messages but here's another one you're the first person i've managed to complete a birthday fic for, i think that says a lot about us

please excuse anything that's ooc (i'm only on fear man leave me alone) or suckish (so basically all of it) and yeah sorry for it all in general but hey it's your otp (besides from BUMERA) and i did try

really

hope you've had the best day ever and i hope this makes it even just a little bit better

i love you lots dork

oh and yes the song its named after is a casual affair by panic! at the disco because the song and album and band are all very very important

no really i'm so sorry if this sucks i'm not sure how i did ALSO I DIDN'T PROOFREAD BECAUSE I'M LAZY so any mistakes i'll fix later

ENJOY FOLKS

* * *

Everyone in the Fayz had nightmares. Edilio hadn't been in everyone's head – he certainly didn't want to – but he could imagine, not that he wanted to do that much either. The Fayz was an ugly place to be but the minds of the population in it was even uglier.

Maybe it was better to dream of things at their worst. Maybe it would give you comfort that the day you were about to face could not challenge your imagination. Maybe it was better than dreaming about warm beds and a mother's kiss goodnight to wake up without it.

Nightmares were not the worst thing in the Fayz, not at all.

Edilio couldn't remember the last time he slept soundly. There was always some kind of duty to be fulfilled, some villain to cage or some small child to direct back to their home. Listing all the jobs in his head was far too easy, doing them was not. At least when you died in nightmares, you always woke up.

No matter his acceptance that reality was the ultimate nightmare, Edilio still avoided sleep. Everyone feared the minute their eyes closed and the minute they opened and Edilio was no exception but he knew that there were aspects of reality he could control. Nightmares were an assault that he couldn't fight, that his gun was useless against, that no kid, with or without power, could win against. You could only wake up.

Maybe Edilio was just better at hiding the fear of his nightmares and the fears that lived in them or maybe his duty as whatever messed up leader status Sam and Astrid had left him to left no time for anything but work, work, work.

_Reality is always worse_, was what was said before bed, what was murmured as hands clasped together in prayer, what was sang to the children but they were all children. _The nightmares aren't real_.

Some days, he heard soft screams and heartbroken cries from houses as he passed. _Blood-thirsty dogs. A monster made of gravel. Masked boys, whispering the word freak like it was a swear word, a sin. A blonde boy with hands that glowed green when they killed_. Each time, Edilio would walk on, hands firm around the gun he was trusted with in the town that he was forced to lead. _A power that destroyed the house of God. A city burning. A hard-eyed boy with a blood stained whip of an arm_.

They lied. The nightmares were very, very real.

So, instead of sleeping, Edilio walked until he was too exhausted to dream, with the excuse that his alertness would save the town. He wasn't going to let anymore graves join those resting, even though Edilio was replaced by someone else with the job of burying the dead. He didn't want to put anyone through what he had.

Despite all the nightmares in the FAYZ, the ones that scared him the most were the ones of his previous job. There wasn't a single death that didn't haunt him. He dreamt of children chewed by coyotes and sisters, brothers, friends simply bones, their skin hanging limp from hunger, their smiles wide from insanity, their gums pale from lack of nourishment. He dreamt of ashes rising up to form faces, bodies, hands that grabbed him. They all grabbed at him.

His worst nightmares were of being buried alive.

But there were only so many hours in the FAYZ you could live in and Edilio had no intention of stepping out on the big poof. His only alternative was sleep. Sleep and let the dead kids bury you or stay awake and watch kids bury the dead for you.

_The dead are real_.

Edilio slept anyway.

He flitted in and out of thoughts and fears but nothing solid formed. He had gotten the hang of sleeping restlessly, ready for his soldiers to wake him with another emergency.

Maybe that's why his dream shifted, solidified, and stayed a _dream_. Maybe that's why he was so confused for so long. It felt like something he would dream before the FAYZ or, at least, before he was appointed head. It wasn't unfamiliar but it made him feel guilty, as if he didn't deserve any pleasant dreams.

But the dreams didn't come as you wanted any less than the nightmares did.

He was aware of his surroundings but his location remained a mystery – just another house in the FAYZ that was empty now, he supposed. It was warm but a far off voice in his conscious noted that as something external from his dream before the voice left and he was stood in a bedroom, in the dark, unwilling to turn on the lamp for a reason he couldn't quite work out himself.

It took him far too long to notice the figure laid on the bed, their back to him, but it took less time for Edilio to typically – so typical of the FAYZ – to reach for his gun. His fingers scraped the soft fabric of his shirt and he didn't question why it felt like it had been washed by his mother instead of dumped in salt water. There was no gun so he just stared at the figure until his dream mind took over and the Edilio that was running a town, that had buried dead, that had nearly died, was gone.

He slowly approached the bed, quietly, intending to identify the person hidden under the bed covers but he knew and maybe that's why he laid a hesitant hand over where the person's waist was before travelling up, trembling, until he didn't dare touch the head, the hair, afraid of the intimacy.

No, he was afraid of his not being real. Edilio was afraid, more than ever, of waking up.

He jumped when the figure turned, onto their back. Their face wasn't entirely visible in the dark but it wasn't entirely hidden either. What little light the room had reflected on two small pieces of glass. Eyes. Open.

It was as if his eyes became light and Edilio could see the features, as if a crafty hand was painting out the hair falling over his forehead and the upturn of his lips that Edilio could feel himself getting fixated on. The boy lifted his fists and rubbed at his eyes but the light didn't go out. The gesture was innocent.

Edilio was well aware that his presence in the dream was anything but.

"Edilio?" His voice was soft, heavy with sleep and a soft tone of something that was frightening and dangerous in ways Edilio didn't have time to think about these days but he was now. Edilio watched the name roll off his tongue before it tentatively wet parted lips. He was raising himself up to a sitting position and the light on his face spread down to bare shoulders, bare chest. Edilio watched him inhale and exhale slowly. "Edilio? What's wrong?"

The question stunned Edilio. What _was_ wrong? What wasn't wrong?

But memories of a world parallel to dreams didn't exist and Edilio was more concerned with what he was doing here, what they were both doing here. The boy wasn't afraid or startled to see Edilio in his room, if this was his room. It felt like a regular thing, a casual affair.

Even his dream self wanted to be cautious, gentle, but instead he grabbed at the boy in answer – so alike to the dead that grabbed him – and buried himself into the crook of his neck, sinking to his knees beside him on the bed.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa- hey, Edilio…" He laughed, a quiet, cheerful chuckle as he tried to balance Edilio sudden weight upon him. Edilio only closed his eyes tighter and tried to breathe at the boy did, fearing that all the tears he kept to himself in the FAYZ would destroy what little was left of his dreams.

His arms wrapped around Edilio and all Edilio could think about was the warmth that he wanted to be real, wanting him to be real, wanting this to be real. His thoughts were loud and selfish and desperate. He held him harder.

The boy sighed and Edilio felt the warmth of his breath on his neck as soft hands touched his spine and shoulders and face and then he was forced away as the blonde held his chin with artist fingers, as though Edilio was a masterpiece.

Then Edilio saw the question in his eyes and knew that he was not yet a work of art. Only the art knew the artist couldn't fix him.

There were so many questions Edilio couldn't answer, no matter how much he wished he could. He was prepared to be broken to fix everything. He leant his forehead against the boy's, too aware of how hopeless he was and the bare skin under fingertips with nails that dug into something that could have been real. Someone who was real.

And not his.

Then he said Edilio's name again, his breath a kiss on the one mentioned, so Edilio returned the favour.

Their mouths met with gentleness too innocent for a room too dark and too warm. Hands moved to pull Edilio close again and the breath that Edilio replied with was one of the few answers he could give, one of the few solutions he could name, despite it being a question in itself. _Roger._ "Roger?"

"Hm?" he said against Edilio's lips and he liked how that felt.

But words felt pointless so Edilio answered with actions; he kissed him again.

_This isn't real_.

Roger didn't laugh when Edilio's hands turned bold and desperate and wrapped around the blonde's waist. The heat of him under his palms was horribly convincing. Roger's lips were soft under Edilio's callused ones and they parted welcomingly.

Edilio jumped at the feel of his tongue. Roger felt real. Roger was real – he was somewhere right now, sleeping, dreaming dreams of anything or anyone but not Edilio. So he moved back, eyes downcast and breathing uneasy. Roger didn't say anything to Edilio's reaction but the hands knotting on the front of the Honduran's shirt were shaking. The light in the room dimmed and he knew he had hurt Roger.

This is what Edilio had been forced to become, as a leader. Systematic, strong, selfless. With Roger, he was a mess of a boy, made of paint the colour of the blood that had been spilt under his rule and water that was made from the tears he refused to shed.

He had children to lead and soldiers to command. He couldn't do this.

_This isn't real._

Roger's eyes were sad when he could finally look up to meet them. Not hopeless, like how his own felt, but sad, which Edilio didn't like but he couldn't bring himself to do anything that would give either of them false hope. Instead of reaching up and tilting the lips up and moving the hair back, Edilio just looked. He wasn't an artist but Roger was beautiful, even in his dreams.

_This isn't real_.

Dreams. This was a dream. It wasn't real. That was the part that had scared Edilio but didn't that mean that he couldn't feel guilty for indulging in it? If this whole thing was a fabrication then wasn't his selfish weakness?

Roger waited patiently and there was no hint of judgement in his eyes but Edilio didn't want him to think that, even in his own dreams, he feared being with Roger. Everything he feared was when he woke.

_This isn't real_.

Edilio's eyes were no longer empty of hope. In return, Roger began kissing Edilio happily. Edilio let him, covering the hands still gripping his shirt with his own, and refused to think about how all of these feelings weren't real, be them selfishness or happiness. It wasn't real and he couldn't ask for anything more or less, when in the FAYZ. All he could do was enjoy it.

The delicate touches became insistent and when Roger's tongue touched his, he didn't hesitate or move away. His hands moved up to cling to the artist's shoulders as their tongues met, hesitantly, before Edilio's hands dug into Roger's hair and whatever self-control he had snapped.

Roger dropped the front of his shirt to push it up as he kissed him with a thoroughness that made Edilio completely forget that they were children. His hands ran over his waist, stomach, up his chest before breaking the kiss and pulling the shirt off. It wasn't cold; it never was in the FAYZ.

But Edilio was hot, feverish almost, and Roger felt that way too. Desire wasn't uncommon in the FAYZ. Desire to eat was common. Desire to kill had been unleashed. Desire to survive was priority.

But this desire was thrumming through his veins and making his pupils dilate. His lower abdomen clenched and, in the gap between Roger removing his shirt and kissing him again, his mouth watered for their bare skin to meet. This desire wasn't about survival but it was still a need.

Edilio allowed Roger to awkwardly twist their positions and his lower half, clad in a pair of jeans and boots, tangled in sheets and Roger's arms. The other boy laughed at the comical sight as Edilio struggled to reign in the urge to kiss Roger and remove his shoes. It was only in him to be polite, even in his dreams. Roger smiled cheerfully when Edilio was done, as if he were sat on a dinner table and not on Edilio's hips. Edilio couldn't see what he was wearing but it didn't matter, he'd feel it soon enough.

Roger didn't move in for a kiss but lowered Edilio down with a gentle push. Edilio complied, the weight of the other's gaze forcing him to lay back and allow the artist to observe him. Maybe if he wasn't so used to being the modest one, he would have made a joke Roger had been referenced to before. _Paint me like one of your Honduran boys_. Maybe if he didn't fear what Roger thought, even in the dim light, he would have kissed him himself.

The silence became heavier than the contemplation in Roger's eyes. Edilio finally spoke. "What do you see?" he whispered.

Roger's eyes met his and his mouth tilted up on one side slightly. "Not everything."

The desire beckoned him in the form of the expression in Roger's eyes. He was half fearful and half hopeful that his own eyes told the artist to see everything.

Roger did as he was commanded. In the quiet of the dream, where no children were screaming and no dead were waking, Edilio heard the sound of the button of his jeans pop open. Roger's smile widened but he hid it by ducking his head and concentrating on pulling down Edilio's jeans and dropping them beside his discarded boots. Edilio was both disappointed and relieved to feel Roger not completely unclothed. He blushed as a bump pressed against his own and opened his mouth to say something, anything, but it met with Roger's. He couldn't complain.

The kiss was different, slow and almost carefully precise. It was a kiss of a man and not a boy that knew nothing other than paint and sleep. It was a kiss that should have reminded Edilio that this wasn't real but he was too concerned with the teasing tongue shaping his mouth and coaxing his own into a battle Edilio was actually willing to partake in. It wasn't until Edilio's boxers were completely free from his erection and his cock made contact with cold air and the boy on top of him that he realised what kind of kiss it was.

A distraction.

He stilled before rising up to a sitting position, unable to think lying down, underneath a determined artist who knew what he was doing. Roger, however, didn't waste any time, sliding the fabric down Edilio's legs and onto the floor whilst his still remained on. Roger shook his head when inexperienced panic filled the gaze of the other boy and whispered, "it's okay."

And Edilio forced himself to exhale when Roger's hand found his in the dark and their fingers laced together firmly. He nodded in agreement because it was okay. As long as it wasn't real, it was okay.

Roger was patient, waiting until Edilio's breathing was quieter than Roger's own, before he lay his other hand against Edilio's chest. Edilio swallowed as a hand felt over a stuttering beat that betrayed his nerves. And then his hand dipped, firm on his stomach and lower still.

At least he didn't jump when Roger's hand wrapped around him.

They were both breathing heavily already and their foreheads touched slightly, both looking down at the hardness Roger held in hands that made beauty. Edilio didn't know anything about sex but he hadn't been raised to think it was anything beautiful, especially not the kind that he was born to be part of. But, in his mind, he imagined that Roger loved beauty as much as he was beautiful himself. And there was nothing in the light of Roger's eyes that told him that he saw Edilio as anything but beautiful.

"Is this…" Roger raised his head so his nose bumped gently with Edilio's and trailed off. The unsaid question was another answer Edilio could find with a kiss, soft and consensual. This wasn't real but it was okay.

Their lips were still touching when Roger began moving his hand.

"Dios mío." It wasn't a prayer but a moan. "Dios mío. _Dios mío_."

Edilio made a soft choking noise, pathetically surprised at the sensation of Roger's hands, cooler than the temperature of his own skin, as if the whole ordeal wasn't something he had done to himself pre the FAYZ, when curiosity decided puberty.

Roger's hand wasn't firm, unrealistic, but careful, as if he was especially considerate of who was under his care. Edilio allowed himself to drop his forehead into the crook of Roger's neck and simply cling to his shoulders. His teeth gritted together but unfamiliar sounds deep in his throat began to fill the room anyway, an animal fighting against the restraints of dignity, too far gone for morality.

When Edilio's body shuddered and he moaned into Roger's skin, the blonde let go of the usually calm, collected soldier's hand and run his thumb over Edilio's tip, part teasing, part curiously. Edilio's cock jerked in his grip and Roger laughed quietly, much to Edilio's embarrassment.

"Stop laughing." It was more pant than command.

Roger almost pulled at Edilio's dick, using both hands, and he had to bite into Roger's collarbone to stop from screaming. Roger chuckled again. "Does it feel good?"

"Please," Edilio replied breathlessly, unsure of what he was begging for.

Roger wasn't a tease deliberately. Neither of them knew how to do this. It would have been too much of a dream, too unreal, if Roger was confident and nothing like the boy Edilio knew. Sleeping in the FAYZ meant hope or despair. This dream was his hope for something that would not happen. With Roger's quiet laughter in his head and admiring hands stroking the most sensitive part of him, Edilio couldn't find it in him to wish for despair.

"Do you trust me, Edilio?" Roger said, kissing his jaw and under his ear softly but it was still enough to bring blood to his skin, not to mention his groin.

Edilio tried to reply but Roger was now lazily toying with him and all he could form was a semi-agreement in the form of a moan.

"Look at me."

Could he? Could he really face his artist as a mess?

Roger left him no choice and leant back, capturing Edilio's mouth in a fierce kiss just as quickly. When he stopped, he was still close enough for Edilio to kiss comfortably. He repeated his question. "Do you trust me? Look at me, Edilio." He paused and that pause was of a boy, still unsure, still pained by the world he was thrown in.

The FAYZ knew that Roger was what Edilio wanted so it gave him Roger, as he was true to himself, in the form of fiction – to show him that this would be what Edilio could have if he broke, like Sam, like Astrid. If he let kids die and the Gaiaphage win.

Roger swallowed. "Please."

Edilio nodded first in answer, eyes averted until their noses touched and he was forced to meet eyes far too loving to ever be something Edilio deserved. "I trust you."

Roger's laughter was affectionate, not mocking, as he released his hands from Edilio's cock mercifully. He tilted his head and spoke against Edilio's mouth. "Lay back."

Instead, Roger lowered Edilio back onto the bed himself, their eyes locked as strands of blonde hair tickled Edilio's cheeks and he could brave what he had always wanted to do. Roger smiled as Edilio hook stray strands behind Roger's ear and the next kiss was the most intimate with Edilio's hand cupping Roger's face and their chests brushing.

_This isn't real_.

But neither could pretend that there wasn't a certain hardness making it hard to keep the kisses cute. Roger almost fell on him when Edilio's tongue touched the blonde's bottom lip. He sat up and put two fingers to his lips, eyes wide with disbelief. "Did you just _lick_ me?"

Edilio groaned, not with pleasure. "Are you determined to do everything?"

"No!" Then he thought about the question and grinned. "Okay, maybe a bit. But licking? Is that a fetish of yours or-"

"No." Dream Roger laughed adorably and Edilio couldn't help but smile before motioning him to lean down with a lazy hand. Roger complied, leaning in for a kiss before darting his tongue out and pressing it to Edilio's bottom lip. He slapped the artist's chest in response.

Roger laughed and caught the hand. "Okay, okay. I'm done. Now, may I?"

Stupidly, Edilio asked, "May you what?"

It was as if Roger expected the Honduran to respond like that. "I'll show you!" he said, almost excitedly.

And then he lowered himself to sit upon Edilio's knees. Even Edilio could guess what Roger was about to do but he had no time to protest; he felt no embarrassment, only fascination at the sight of Roger's mouth around his cock.

It wasn't a smooth move but it did its job. Edilio's hips jerked and Roger slapped them down, holding him firmly to the bed to avoid being choked. The previous moment filled with affection was ruined by their first awkward sexual experience. Edilio understood why sex wasn't seen as beautiful; it was ridiculous. They were two teenage boys that had no idea what they were doing, almost. There was nothing here worth making art out of.

But then Roger looked up at him, with firm, stern eyes that said _don't move or I'll bite or do something equally as horrifying_ and Edilio acknowledged that Roger looked sinfully good, cheeks flushed and hair unruly, with his mouth around Edilio's length and his fingers spread out where they pressed against Edilio's hipbones.

Then Roger started sucking.

Edilio was vaguely aware of his mouth chanting, "Oh my god," in both English and Spanish but concentration was pointless. He tilted his head back and tried to breathe as steadily as one could when their body was assaulted by an arson only doused when it burned its course through the entirety of their entire being, right down to the darkest, ugliest parts of their soul.

He didn't have to open his eyes – nor could he have, under such heavy pleasure – to see Roger watching every unashamed, open mouthed groan, every reaction caused by a flick of Roger's tongue that made his eyelids shut tighter and his body clench and unclench with an almost painful longing for release. No longer low in his body but a need that thrummed in his blood, through his brain, through his fragile, fast-paced heart – a need so strong it felt like hunger, hope and survival had formed a new desire to undo Edilio in a world where he was already unravelling.

Edilio had never wanted anything more.

Roger's hands, slick with sweat, wrapped around Edilio's base and he thrust unintentionally, calling out the name of the boy who was his undoing. The far off sound of a moan, not entirely not pleasure, stilled Edilio's movements but Roger had no complaints as the soldier knotted his fingers in blonde hair firmly and began moving Roger with an insistence that made him growl, deep in his throat. Edilio felt it and returned the sound.

The momentum instructed didn't need his lead but he kept his hands in the soft hair of the artist as Roger dragged his wet mouth over Edilio's cock with adapted skill. Edilio tried not to speak, not to embarrass himself any further, but words spilled from his tongue, begging, curses, prayers, promises. He muffled the declarations with his face turned into the pillow. Roger did not relent but picked up his pace, lips drenched in saliva, sweat and Edilio's own pre-cum. His hair fell on Edilio's stomach and the room was alive with the sounds of whatever witchcraft Roger was imposing on Edilio, Edilio's breathing which was simply _Roger Roger Roger_ and both their hearts, beating against chests of boys becoming men.

Abruptly, Roger's mouth released him and Edilio couldn't thank or curse the heavens because soft, warm hands traced the tracks where the artist had run his mouth dry. The heat of his palms, the tightness of his fingers, were not aiming for exploration. Roger wanted to finish Edilio, wanted to pick apart every layer of skin and muscle, every organ and every cell, every thought and every part of his soul, with hands that made art, made beauty.

Roger was making Edilio the most beautiful.

_Roger. Roger. Roger. Roger. Roger._ He sobbed the name and it wasn't just in his head. And Roger was kissing his face, as quickly as his name was spoke. Every word, another kiss. Edilio opened his eyes and the inferno wasn't put out but burned harder than humanly bearable.

_Maybe no one is truly human in the FAYZ_.

With Roger's hands still on his cock and his lips on the dangerous pulse at Edilio's neck, Edilio called out his name for the last time as he came. Momentarily, all his limbs fell limp with sensations so strong his mind couldn't process them as they happened – a body with a pulse but no feeling.

And then he was feeling everything and everything was Roger. Roger's breath was in his neck as he chuckled almost nervously then his lips kissed away tears that had fallen from Edilio closing his eyes too tight for too long.

When they kissed, once more, for the last time, it was a tired but satisfied touching of lips, the acceptance of lovers.

Neither spoke – both breathless – as they both lay on their back, Edilio trying to recover from what he had experienced and Roger from what he had given. Somewhere in the silence, Roger's hand found Edilio's again.

Roger chuckled after a while and Edilio savoured the sound, as he had savoured the kiss – eyes closed tight so tears would not escape. "Dios mío, was it?"

"Dios mío," Edilio repeated softly, correcting the other boy's pronunciation. "I think you guessed what it means."

"Hm." He didn't speak for a long time then, almost shyly, with the ducked head of a cheeky schoolboy, he requested, "Say something else. In Spanish, I mean."

"Te amo." Edilio smiled and knew Roger would not see any sadness. "Te quiero, Roger."

Roger grinned. "What does it mean?"

Edilio just smiled some more, holding Roger closer as the artist pestered for a translation. Eventually, the other boy gave up and they simply clung to each other. Edilio knew that dreams couldn't be shared but there was something about Roger's actions that seemed desperate, as if he could feel the dream fading in the corners.

What could he possibly lose from trying to see if Roger too was escaping reality into Edilio's mind?

"This isn't real…" Edilio murmured, eyes trained on the ceiling which he couldn't see.

"Hm?" Roger sounded sleepy.

Edilio turned his way to find tired eyes watching him without a care in the world. The small sliver of hope died out like a doused flame. Still, he firmly repeated, "This isn't real."

Roger blinked. "Are you complimenting me?" His lips tilted up. Edilio wanted to kiss them for every day of the rest of his life. "I am pretty unreal, if that's what you're trying to say."

So Roger was nothing but his imagination and everything but his. If it weren't for the love, so painfully genuine, in the slowly dimming light of Roger's eyes, Edilio would have reached up towards the ceiling, which was no longer dark but grey, as if a bleached out sun was rising. But it was just the dream ending and he didn't want to waste the last of it leading the unreal Roger that he didn't love him too.

He returned the gaze, tugging the artist's hand gently until a blonde head settled on his shoulder and Roger's other arm wrapped over Edilio's middle. Edilio rested his lips on the top of Roger's head for a long moment. He swallowed hard and said, "Yeah. Yeah, babe. That's what I was trying to say," and looked up to find the room disintegrating from his imagination.

He couldn't watch Roger – colourful, wonderful, Artful Roger – be stripped from his colour so Edilio closed his eyes tight as the boy he loved nestled into Edilio as he became just another particle of imagination.

"Te amo, Roger. Te quiero."

_I love you, Roger. I love you_.

Edilio's eyes were damp when he woke up.

He stopped himself from thinking about the dream – thinking about Roger – as soon as he heard the knock on his door, which was only a couple of minutes after he woke up. He forced his thoughts to think about whether they had been knocking for longer as he quickly cleaned himself up as best as he could and found another pair of jeans.

He wasn't thinking hard enough and still felt disappointment when he opened the door, as if expecting Roger to be there. Instead, one of his soldiers (he vaguely remembered the boy's name was Jacob) reported that Astrid was asking for him. He nodded once and sent Jacob away before setting out for Astrid's current home in Perdido Beach.

Edilio paused when he saw Lana outside the hospital, smoking and ignoring anyone who passed. She raised her gaze towards Edilio but maybe that was because he was mayor. She nodded once, a subtle hello, and, despite being somewhat free from the evil that she called the Darkness, Lana could not see eye to eye after what it had manipulated her to do to him. The memory of the night she shot him often featured in nightmares but he pushed it away, welcoming thoughts about an artist that held his hand over skin that once held home to a bullet.

"Hey, Lana?" he called, taking a few steps towards her but stopping at a respectable distance away. Lana was free from the Darkness perhaps but she wasn't free from the aftermath. The Healer wasn't the easiest person to be around in the FAYZ.

She exhaled but Edilio was far enough to not be able to smell the smoke. "Yeah?"

"How's Roger doing?" he blurted out before he could change his mind. He hoped he sounded like a concerned mayor and less like a love-struck boy. Lana was not the enemy but there were many that could be and Edilio didn't want any more weaknesses listed under his name than he already did, especially not ones that could hurt others.

He couldn't risk Roger like that.

He hurriedly added, "And Justin?"

"They're both fine," Lana answered, after a moment of confusion. "They're probably completely back to normal. Or as normal as you get in the FAYZ."

Edilio didn't argue with the bitter point. He couldn't disagree.

The unsociable silence between them gave Edilio the chance to recount the fire, another nightmare of his. He remembered Justin pulling Roger out of a fog of smoke. He remembered how Roger was unable to speak, unable to see, and he feared that it would stay that way. What was an artist without his eyes?

Lana kicked some gravel, cigarette dangling in her fingertips. "Why don't you go to see them yourself?"

He had expected that. Edilio smiled tiredly. "I have a job."

Lana was not one for sympathy and her interaction for the day had hit its limit. She shrugged and began walking away. Edilio watched her silently, resisting the urge to cover his ears with his hands. The memory of the smoke pushing into his lungs and the screams of the children would never leave him, just like the memory of the Darkness could not leave Lana.

But then she hesitated and grudgingly spoke, "You should go see them. You saved them, Edilio. That's got to be worth something, right?"

"That wasn't me, it was Orc and Jack and Dekka," Edilio replied, as if his modesty was a reflex.

"You're saving this whole town, Edilio. Don't be so hard on yourself. Take a break. Go see them. Justin probably needs a hero." Though Lana's tone was slightly mocking, her intent was genuine. Maybe the FAYZ, the Darkness, had changed good people but it had not made them bad.

Still, the mention of Edilio being a hero made him uncomfortable. Naturally, he denied it quickly. "I'm not a hero. He's close to Roger and he doesn't even know me. Roger can be his hero."

"For God's sake, Edilio, you can both be his hero," Lana snapped irritably. Edilio's chest felt tight at the thought of him and Roger. Both. Together. Lana rolled her eyes and added, "I'm sure Roger would like to see his knight in shining armour too."

He tried not to blush and probably failed. Lana didn't seem to notice and turned away again, shrugging. "I'm going to check up on the hospital."

"Thanks for your work, Lana."

She didn't turn back but waved. Whether it was goodbye or thank you or both, Edilio couldn't work out. Lana went her way and Edilio went his.

He wasn't lying about the job he had to do. Love wasn't something he expected to be easy, Sam and Astrid's certainly wasn't. But maybe it was the comfort that mattered. Maybe every solder needed a lover to remind him that there was more to the world than fighting and killing and war. There was more to Edilio than the FAYZ. And, deep in his heart, Edilio knew he wasn't a mayor, a leader, but a soldier.

_If boys can kill, why can't they love?_

As he walked through town, his gun firm in his hands, kids began waking up, calling out to each other, talking and laughing because the only alternative was to grow up too soon and they weren't ready to do what Edilio had to do. But the laughter was proof that even the lowest were shaking their nightmares. Astrid was still working. Lana was still healing.

Edilio had to do the same but not with monsters and death but with a boy with a soft laugh and eyes made of light. The dream wasn't real but this – this cruel world he had made to organise, to lead, to survive in – was real. _This is real_.

Edilio stalled at a street that could lead him two ways. One was towards Astrid and the second would take him to Roger's new home where he resided with Justin, who had grown attached to the older boy he had saved himself.

He almost laughed. If anyone was the hero, it had to be Justin.

Holding his gun more firmly, Edilio took the first route towards Astrid's home.

Roger wasn't his but he was real. Edilio walked on, his gun tight in soldier hands that he could only dream to link with an artist's. Maybe Roger did see him as something more than the wetback Honduran mayor of the FAYZ. Maybe Edilio could be a hero, for Roger, but it didn't matter, not on this morning.

_Roger is real_.


End file.
